I have successfully returned from the grave, after being smitten down by that awful and mortal disease known as the... common cold.
Seriously?
A little fever and I'm flat on my back for two days solid, alternating between freezing my toes off and burning the chest hairs off my... well, chest.
As it is, I am still recovering, so tomorrow will bring the post I had hoped to write on the weekend, the post about my editing Freeborn and Freegiven. Suffice to say for now that things are looking well on that front. So none need worry about me calling quits for some random plot bunny who happened along.
Well, now, if you'll excuse me, I must go lay down on my freshly washed sheets and catch the first good night's rest I've obtained since... Friday?
Being a blog of writerly ramblings and jotted notes “For what is said is forgotten in time, but that which is written endures"
July 31, 2012
July 25, 2012
Home... is where the Heart is
I've noticed an interesting trend in my soliloquies on Quartorlen. As I wax eloquent on the colorful landscape painted across my imagination, I've come to realize the image in my mind is a lot like what I imagine Heaven will be like.
Which is good and bad. Because Quartorlen is not heaven. Nor even an allegory for heaven. The folk who dwell there are flawed, evil is dangerously present, and darkness often threatens to blot out the deep colors the land is made from.
But the realization brings up an important point. See, Quartorlen is a place I would love to live. It is the perfect combination in my mind of different landscapes and climates. From icy white mountains to thick green forests, rolling blue downs to rocky red cliffs, the world of the freeborn is everything amazing here on earth, all rolled together, doubled, and painted in brilliant colors. And I'm pretty sure that that's what heaven's going to be like. Just infinitely, eternally, imagination-defyingly better.
So why does all this matter? Because it means that deep down in my soul is set a longing for a home that I have never seen; a home that is perfect in every way for me; a home that is heaven.
And when I get there, I can say, like Jewel the Unicorn of Narnia;
"I have come home at last! This is my real country! I belong here. This is the land I have been looking for all my life, though I never knew it till now."
Which is good and bad. Because Quartorlen is not heaven. Nor even an allegory for heaven. The folk who dwell there are flawed, evil is dangerously present, and darkness often threatens to blot out the deep colors the land is made from.
But the realization brings up an important point. See, Quartorlen is a place I would love to live. It is the perfect combination in my mind of different landscapes and climates. From icy white mountains to thick green forests, rolling blue downs to rocky red cliffs, the world of the freeborn is everything amazing here on earth, all rolled together, doubled, and painted in brilliant colors. And I'm pretty sure that that's what heaven's going to be like. Just infinitely, eternally, imagination-defyingly better.
So why does all this matter? Because it means that deep down in my soul is set a longing for a home that I have never seen; a home that is perfect in every way for me; a home that is heaven.
And when I get there, I can say, like Jewel the Unicorn of Narnia;
"I have come home at last! This is my real country! I belong here. This is the land I have been looking for all my life, though I never knew it till now."
July 23, 2012
Plot Rabbits
Or bunnies. But I prefer to not have that word featured anywhere in my vocabulary. :P
But seriously, these little creatures collectively known as the infamous, deadly, plot bunnies, have been eating me alive lately. So far, I have luckily been able to shake them off, merely making note of their existence; and I hope to continue doing so in the near future.
See, I'm trying to stick to one project at a time right now (well, one in each type of media :P), and right now plot bunnies are being given the boot. Cause no matter how enticing, this writer is currently occupied.
But, since they're clamoring for attention, we'll at least give them the look-over. Let's see here...
A young boy wakes up in his own dream to meet his dream lord, a guardian of his imagination who wages constant war on the fears and nightmares of the night. Across the infinite meshes and merges of time and space that occupy the mind he rides, battling the darklings of fear. But in the end, it is the boy himself who must challenge his fears and use his own powerful imagination against them.
A small town finds itself home to a rift in reality through which fall all manner of strange creatures and men, most of them dangerous. And so a club is formed; the gun fanatic, the librarian, the physicist and the junkyard man. Using their combined wits, knowledge, and sense of humor, they set out to track down every last bit of weirdness that's fallen through.
Sometimes, the right things fall into the wrong hands. When an artifact that shows the truth about the holder and the world around him falls into the hands of a power-scheming lord, it nearly breaks him. He comes away embittered with the brokenness of the world and hopeless of ever finding good again. So he begins using the artifact on those around, crushing them into his service with hopelessness and despair. The world's fallen state and their own depravity is shown is startling clarity, and they cannot bear the weight. But when he tries to use it on those who believe in Christ, there is no visible effect. Children of God already know the truth about themselves; how sinful they truly are, how unable to ever seek pardon on their own, and how in need of a savior. What's more, they know that there is a savior, that there is hope, and that the saving of this world has already begun.
Among all the pirates of the South Sea, none were as merciless as Ralj. He was known as the man who never took prisoners. Every man, woman and child who survived his initial attack was thrown overboard, but not before wanted they told him what he to know. Some tried to resist, but they were merely killed sooner as an example for the rest. Folk feared him, but they feared dying more, and Ralj used that fear however he pleased. His reign of terror continued for years, until the day he met someone who wasn't afraid to die. A young girl, who stared him back in the face unflinchingly and simply asked if he would kill her quickly when he did. He let her live a day longer, just to see if he could find out what was different about her. And the day after that, and the day after that. And that young girl, not quite a woman, started something so unheard of, that for years afterward, folk would use it as an example of the impossible becoming possible.
So, those are the little fellers that have been nipping at my heels. I'll get to them eventually. :)
But seriously, these little creatures collectively known as the infamous, deadly, plot bunnies, have been eating me alive lately. So far, I have luckily been able to shake them off, merely making note of their existence; and I hope to continue doing so in the near future.
See, I'm trying to stick to one project at a time right now (well, one in each type of media :P), and right now plot bunnies are being given the boot. Cause no matter how enticing, this writer is currently occupied.
But, since they're clamoring for attention, we'll at least give them the look-over. Let's see here...
A young boy wakes up in his own dream to meet his dream lord, a guardian of his imagination who wages constant war on the fears and nightmares of the night. Across the infinite meshes and merges of time and space that occupy the mind he rides, battling the darklings of fear. But in the end, it is the boy himself who must challenge his fears and use his own powerful imagination against them.
A small town finds itself home to a rift in reality through which fall all manner of strange creatures and men, most of them dangerous. And so a club is formed; the gun fanatic, the librarian, the physicist and the junkyard man. Using their combined wits, knowledge, and sense of humor, they set out to track down every last bit of weirdness that's fallen through.
Sometimes, the right things fall into the wrong hands. When an artifact that shows the truth about the holder and the world around him falls into the hands of a power-scheming lord, it nearly breaks him. He comes away embittered with the brokenness of the world and hopeless of ever finding good again. So he begins using the artifact on those around, crushing them into his service with hopelessness and despair. The world's fallen state and their own depravity is shown is startling clarity, and they cannot bear the weight. But when he tries to use it on those who believe in Christ, there is no visible effect. Children of God already know the truth about themselves; how sinful they truly are, how unable to ever seek pardon on their own, and how in need of a savior. What's more, they know that there is a savior, that there is hope, and that the saving of this world has already begun.
Among all the pirates of the South Sea, none were as merciless as Ralj. He was known as the man who never took prisoners. Every man, woman and child who survived his initial attack was thrown overboard, but not before wanted they told him what he to know. Some tried to resist, but they were merely killed sooner as an example for the rest. Folk feared him, but they feared dying more, and Ralj used that fear however he pleased. His reign of terror continued for years, until the day he met someone who wasn't afraid to die. A young girl, who stared him back in the face unflinchingly and simply asked if he would kill her quickly when he did. He let her live a day longer, just to see if he could find out what was different about her. And the day after that, and the day after that. And that young girl, not quite a woman, started something so unheard of, that for years afterward, folk would use it as an example of the impossible becoming possible.
So, those are the little fellers that have been nipping at my heels. I'll get to them eventually. :)
July 20, 2012
To Rewrite that which is Written
'Tis a strange feeling, completely rewriting the sentences that I've been reading every time I've opened up Freeborn for the past three years.
Before:
The captain of a solitary sea-post on the northern shore of Whitefall looked out across the bay, the dark water lit only by the rays of both moons. It was a quiet night, so still that the captain could hear the waves slapping against the ice crust at the base of the stone tower.
The smooth stone of the solitary sea-post on the northern shore of Whitefall glimmered cold under the rays of both moons. The captain who stood atop its walls looked across the dark bay, peering out to where the water met the night sky. It was a quiet night, so still the captain could hear the waves slapping against the ice crust at the base of the tower.
Before:
The captain of a solitary sea-post on the northern shore of Whitefall looked out across the bay, the dark water lit only by the rays of both moons. It was a quiet night, so still that the captain could hear the waves slapping against the ice crust at the base of the stone tower.
After:
The smooth stone of the solitary sea-post on the northern shore of Whitefall glimmered cold under the rays of both moons. The captain who stood atop its walls looked across the dark bay, peering out to where the water met the night sky. It was a quiet night, so still the captain could hear the waves slapping against the ice crust at the base of the tower.
This particular portion, and the small snippet directly after, I had actually written well in advance of November 2010, though I edited them to fit the world I had created. Still, they had remained mainly intact until last Monday, when I began the challenge I had set myself.
Maybe they're better for the change, maybe they're worse, but they definitely needed a change, if only to help me break still more the antiquated 'matter-of-fact' voice that still sometimes creeps in whenever I'm having trouble writing.
Most of it comes of from the extreme amount of description I was trying to put into my first stories; I had to tell what the walls were made of, what color they were, and how they felt when the hero brushed his hand against them. Then do the same with the door, and the room beyond, and the courtyard beyond.... etc, ad nauseum.
Now that I've arrived at the pinnacle of writing, of course, such things no longer trouble me. :)
No, every sentence is a fight. A fight to shape black marks on white paper into the multi-colored, 3D landscape, characters, and stories that fill my head. A fight to make the rhythm of each sentence and the sound of each word match the song that is the story. A fight to sing poetry into prose, day into night, and text into images so sharp and clear they will stay with you forever.
If I can touch your imagination just a little, and give you the necessary ingredients, then you can conjure a spell of your own that will take you far away to the little world called Quartorlen, where the colors are deeper, the folk are simpler, and there is always a song or tale to be heard.
And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.
Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things. What you have learned and received and heard and seen in me—practice these things, and the God of peace will be with you.
Philippians 4:7-9 (ESV)
Labels:
Freeborn and Freegiven,
Musings,
Quartorlen,
writing
July 16, 2012
A Challenge
Well, it's time to face the music.
I haven't been writing.
And this is a writing blog.
So... no blogging has happened. (Revelation!)
But what has happened is in the past. And all I can do is decide what to do with the time given me.
There will be a day when I give up, a day of unfinished stories, blotted ink, and deleted files, when the work of years comes crashing down. But it is not this day!
This day, I write!
Here's the idea: I'm going to go back to the beginning. Back to November 2010, when my writing changed from the standard 'masterpiece-of-an-amateur-writer-that-he's-been-working-on-forever' to something... different. I fell in love with writing all over again. I actually wrote something worth reading. And my writing has never been the same since.
So that's where I'll go, to Freeborn and Freegiven, and give it the edit it deserves. Now, the plan is to continue on to the next book I wrote, and so on until I've caught up with myself, but of course there'll be a break for this year's NaNoWriMo, and some other plot bunny will catch my attention... But that's the plan.
But even the most well-thought out plan can fail without a drive to complete it. And so many resolutions and goals have failed because there was nothing pushing from behind. So, here's the clinch.
Every week I must edit/write at least one full chapter, and have to show proof here. That's where you all come in. Your job is to keep me accountable; keep pushing me onward.
Sound clear enough? Good. Now let's see if I can do this. :)
I haven't been writing.
And this is a writing blog.
So... no blogging has happened. (Revelation!)
But what has happened is in the past. And all I can do is decide what to do with the time given me.
There will be a day when I give up, a day of unfinished stories, blotted ink, and deleted files, when the work of years comes crashing down. But it is not this day!
This day, I write!
Here's the idea: I'm going to go back to the beginning. Back to November 2010, when my writing changed from the standard 'masterpiece-of-an-amateur-writer-that-he's-been-working-on-forever' to something... different. I fell in love with writing all over again. I actually wrote something worth reading. And my writing has never been the same since.
So that's where I'll go, to Freeborn and Freegiven, and give it the edit it deserves. Now, the plan is to continue on to the next book I wrote, and so on until I've caught up with myself, but of course there'll be a break for this year's NaNoWriMo, and some other plot bunny will catch my attention... But that's the plan.
But even the most well-thought out plan can fail without a drive to complete it. And so many resolutions and goals have failed because there was nothing pushing from behind. So, here's the clinch.
Every week I must edit/write at least one full chapter, and have to show proof here. That's where you all come in. Your job is to keep me accountable; keep pushing me onward.
Sound clear enough? Good. Now let's see if I can do this. :)
July 13, 2012
The Story of My Life
Get up. Take brother and his friends swimming. Take 4-hour driver's test online. Pick up pallets and other junk wood for set building. Head to church property to start work. Run out of pallets, drop by Lowes and Walmart for more. Realize I didn't bring any shovels or axes. Head home. Sleep.
Wake up. Go to beach with friends. Hook up trailer to van. Pick up kayaks. Unload kayaks at home. Load shovels, axes, and other necessary equipment. Head back up to property to work on set. Run out of nails, send friend to get some. Go pick up bed for college and try to back up 15-passenger van with a trailer in the pouring rain. Fail, let friend do it for me. Hut still needs work. Come back home. Think of character to come as for friend's birthday party. Sleep.
Get up early to reload kayaks. Take brother and friend kayaking. Get back home, and realize I need to write a blog post. And mail a tax letter thingy for college. And work on the score of a friend's movie. Still need to finish the driver's test. Tonight, work. Tomorrow, filming. Remember to make sure I'm off work.
It's my birthday.
I have such a wonderful life. And that's not sarcasm. I have a family who loves me, a God who watches over me, and friends who support me every step of my crazy, wonderful, story of a life.
May God remind me of that more often.
Wake up. Go to beach with friends. Hook up trailer to van. Pick up kayaks. Unload kayaks at home. Load shovels, axes, and other necessary equipment. Head back up to property to work on set. Run out of nails, send friend to get some. Go pick up bed for college and try to back up 15-passenger van with a trailer in the pouring rain. Fail, let friend do it for me. Hut still needs work. Come back home. Think of character to come as for friend's birthday party. Sleep.
Get up early to reload kayaks. Take brother and friend kayaking. Get back home, and realize I need to write a blog post. And mail a tax letter thingy for college. And work on the score of a friend's movie. Still need to finish the driver's test. Tonight, work. Tomorrow, filming. Remember to make sure I'm off work.
It's my birthday.
I have such a wonderful life. And that's not sarcasm. I have a family who loves me, a God who watches over me, and friends who support me every step of my crazy, wonderful, story of a life.
May God remind me of that more often.
July 9, 2012
The Music of War
For every war ever fought in history, for every battle imagined on the page, for every clash of arms captured on screen, for every heroic deed and glorious end, for every victory and every defeat, for the invisible war that is fought every day of our lives for our souls; for all those do I write.
Dawn comes slowly
Red light spilling out
Sound the horns
And ring forth the shout
At the ready now!
Draw your swords
Anticipation
As we lean forwards
Sunrise comes faster
Shadows away do fly
Thunder of hooves
And our war cry
Skirling of music
Death will die
Light into the dark
Lift the standard high
The charge carries on
Drums begin to beat
On to the north!
Fear not defeat!
Time will slow
As armies collide
Angels and demons
Turn of the tide
Choirs unseen
Drumroll of victory
Horns of war
Ring triumphantly
Quiet now
Silence once again
The battle is done
Still the music and pen
July 8, 2012
*cough, cough*
Is it bad when you check your own blog, hoping someone commented or something, and then realize that you probably should just post that something?
Har har. Anyways, this isn't an apology post, nor yet a full explanation post. Cause basically both of those can be summed up like this:
"Hey all! Sorry about not posting, I've been busy!"
Boring!
But, as you can see, if you look up at those first few lines of text, I have not only already succeeded in not giving either an explanation nor an apology for my absence, but have also managed to make you smile at least twice (or at least I hope so!).
Anyways, let me explain. No, there is too much, let me sum up:
College fast approaches, filming continues apace, writing has dropped to nill, summer grows ever hotter, and I've so many gatherings to attend I've lost count.
In addition, I've got my country's five hundredth anniversary to plan, my wedding to arrange, my wife to murder and Guilder to frame for it; I'm swamped!
However, there will a few posts popping up shortly, (God and weather permitting), concerning filming and the like.
Until then, have fun storming the castle! Goodbye!
Har har. Anyways, this isn't an apology post, nor yet a full explanation post. Cause basically both of those can be summed up like this:
"Hey all! Sorry about not posting, I've been busy!"
Boring!
But, as you can see, if you look up at those first few lines of text, I have not only already succeeded in not giving either an explanation nor an apology for my absence, but have also managed to make you smile at least twice (or at least I hope so!).
Anyways, let me explain. No, there is too much, let me sum up:
College fast approaches, filming continues apace, writing has dropped to nill, summer grows ever hotter, and I've so many gatherings to attend I've lost count.
In addition, I've got my country's five hundredth anniversary to plan, my wedding to arrange, my wife to murder and Guilder to frame for it; I'm swamped!
However, there will a few posts popping up shortly, (God and weather permitting), concerning filming and the like.
Until then, have fun storming the castle! Goodbye!
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